


she maketh gods

by thirteenohtwo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, I'm right up there with Beau, Jester becomes a warlock patron after travis accidentally stole the warlock class from her, and I like the hilarious poetic justice of the thought that like, anyhoo, but mostly he skeeves me out, okay i have a lot of conflicting feelings about the Traveler, so much in fact that I DO think Jester holds more power than she thinks, that's this i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirteenohtwo/pseuds/thirteenohtwo
Summary: who holds the real power? the creator or the created?orJester has more power than she thinks.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 15
Kudos: 138





	she maketh gods

It’s been a long time since they’ve had a dodecahedron in their possession.

Really, since the last time Caleb lifted it up before a court of dark elves and declared his loyalties or… well, technically, undeclared his loyalties to the Empire? And yeah, they’ve  _ seen _ one since, they even got to inspect one up close again. It wasn’t like theirs (she misses  _ theirs _ for some reason even if it was just a thing. And technically a god, too? She’s still unclear on that.) but close enough that it burned with nostalgia and planted a little seed of sorrow in her heart. 

Maybe she doesn’t miss theirs, exactly. Maybe she misses those days, the simplicity of it. They were just… they’d stumbled upon something bigger than themselves, caught between two sides of warring countries, but they were just a group of people. Of, really, assholes, who decided to stick together because nobody else cared about them.  _ Besides  _ momma, of course. 

Now they’re fighting Not Gods and deciding another… God but… Not God’s fate, or whatever the Traveler is these days. They’re swearing oaths and loyalties to the Wildmother, rising in the ranks of the Cobalt Soul, getting their bodies and families back, overcoming the very things they spent so long running from. They’re changing. Getting better. Bigger. More important.

They’re not just a bunch of assholes stumbling across the map anymore. They’re seeking things out and  _ doing _ them and  _ deciding _ things that they never wanted to decide in the first place. 

That _she_ never wanted to decide in the first place. 

She wanted to be closer to the Traveler but  _ oh _ , not like this. Not like this. He was supposed to be her god. Her  _ god. _

But he’s just another asshole with more tricks up his sleeve than most, asking  _ her _ for help.

“And, like, I’m  _ totally _ fine with helping you, don’t get me wrong,” Jester tells the stars because they’re the closest she can get to a sympathetic ear these days. Closest she can get to  _ him. _ Silent, like him, but… without the well-intended judgement of her friends.

She sniffs and tucks her chin back against her chest, doesn’t bother wiping the tear that tracks down her nose if nobody is there to see it anyway. “But where are you when  _ I _ need help? Where were you when Beau disappeared? When Caduceus did? Where were you when I fought a  _ god _ for you??”

Sparkling green energy crackles between her fingers and she focuses on spinning the dodecahedron between them until it goes away. 

His answer doesn’t come and she doesn’t even expect it these days. Why wait with bated breath for  _ I’m busy, sorry! _ Another reason why she prefers the stars. Long dead and shining still. Here still. Whenever she needs them.

A broken heart thumps with warmth and even through her tears, Jester’s smile is a sight to behold. Her purple gaze drifts across the wooden floor of the ship where her friends slumber down below. Her people. Her family. There, whenever she needs them. Without hesitation.

_ “Say the word, Jes.” _

A startling devotion that takes her breath away each time she looks in those ocean blue eyes shining like the clearest sapphires back at her. She’s not sure why the Traveler doesn’t like it, if what she feels from Beau is even a fraction of what he gets from everyone else. 

That kind of connection, that kind of power… oh, but it’s so addictive. Like falling. Like flying. She could kill a thousand gods as long as Beau keeps looking at her like that, and she just  _ can’t _ understand how the Traveler  _ wants _ to turn away from it all.

The beacon between her palms pulses with a warmth not of her own, a seed of light within its grey walls. Her brows furrow, attention drawn, and she actually forgot what happens if you look too long.

Her self is drawn in, in, in…

She’s not sure what it is, really. A smearing of pink, and green, and blue. Like stepping into a soft, abstract painting that stretches on beyond time and thought itself. An echo of realization that swallows you down and down and down. With little twinkling fairy lights in the distance that pulse with each touch of her gaze. 

One burns more brightly than the others and the second she thinks she might want to get closer, it’s there. Within reach, a heart of familiar blue that she reaches for. Plucks, like the strings of Yasha’s harp, and pulls apart like a warm pastry.

But, like, shitballs, what a bad idea.

Her head swirls until all the colours mesh together in a messy haze she can’t focus on, and she doesn’t remember what she had for dinner, but it’s definitely coming up, and oh Traveler, what happens if you puke in a Maybe God Beacon Thing?

Just as she thinks it, she lands on her hands and knees inside a tent. The carpet beneath her is familiar, a memory on the tip of her brain, but she can’t make out the details despite how close it is. Just sees the red and silver, can catch a flash of red and purple out the peripherals of her eyes. But she can’t look away, can’t raise her head from the tarot cards laid out before her.

They don’t look familiar, really. None of them are from her deck and yet, there is something similar between them. Something about the writing, the curve of the letters, the little eyes in the corners of each one.

Three cards lay before her as she rests back on her heels, tucks blue hair behind her ears to keep out of her eyes, and just  _ cannot _ look up (please, look up, please, he's  _ right there _ ). Incense burns somewhere in the tent, a soft glow from above that lights up the quiet space. Each deep breath has the corners of her vision blurring before they settle again, on the cusp of a falling asleep.

Or maybe waking up.

To the left is  _ The Serpent.  _ The card is dark, nearly all black with purple swirls in the darkness that form… tentacles, maybe. The name is in flowing yellow script that matches the many, many yellow eyes covering the card. Her eyes fall closed in an echoing blink, only opening again after the first crash of the ocean wave. She falls forward, catching herself on her palm, her finger pressed against the corner of the card, like, like-

Like it’s trying to drag her down and in.

Terror grasps her heart as surely as a tentacle grasps her wrist but she wrenches back with a shriek and falls on her hip, her elbow. She manages to rip her gaze away from the card to the closest one on the right now, falling into the comfort of it, the safety of it.

_ The Traveler. _ This card is somehow more familiar than the others, a billowing green cloak under the archway of a door with the path stretching out towards the bottom of the card. It sparkles and shimmers in a delightful, playful sort of way that feels… hollow, the more she looks at it. The sadness creeps in, a bitterness corrupting the sweetness. The crack down her heart burning with hurt, knowing  _ he _ didn’t pull her from the serpent’s card.

She had to pull herself away. She has to cling so tightly to his because there’s nothing holding her back in return. 

Her eyes linger on the archway he stands in and wonders, as she always has. Is he arriving or leaving? 

She pushes up to her knees again, careful to not look at the left card, and brings her gaze to the middle. 

_ The Jester. _ Stars twinkle against a purple and pink-tinged sky, with the shadow of a fang-tipped grin only visible in the shine of the glowing light above her. Her name is. Well. She likes it. Soft curves that end in sharp points. And taking up most of the card in the foreground, a little blue hand with her pinky curled around a human’s… no, an orc’s... goblin’s? Firbolg’s? The other hand shimmers and changes with each different angle she tries to look at it, and instinctively she reaches out to just grab the damn thing-

Her fingertips brush against the card before something snaps and she’s yanked back. Or the tent is yanked away from her.

Everything is gone in a stretch of colour again, back to the ocean of blue, pink, and purple that blurs together. 

“Hnhh!” Jester sucks in a sharp breath and yanks her head back, vision swimming as blue invades her senses. “Wha-”

“Easy!” Beau gasps and blue fists are caught in rough brown palms. Details settle and she sees the monk on her knees across from her, concern playing at her face. “You good?”

It takes a minute to get her bearings, to remember where they are, where she is. To feel the gentle sway of the ship on the water, to hear the comforting creak of the wood, and smell that crisp, clean ocean air. “Yeah… yes!” she chirps and the smile comes easy, like a reflex.

But Beau’s thumbs swipe under her eyes, against her cheeks, catching the tears still falling there.

_ (It feels like it’s been hours, was it really only a couple seconds?) _

Her smile widens, like that alone will convince Beau she wasn’t actually crying. “I think I forgot to blink, I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at this. It’s  _ pretty _ trippy, I forgot about that!”

“Okay, but.” She watches Beau fumble for words, watches those brows tug together in mild frustration - it’s endearing, the scowl that so often accompanies Beau’s attempts at comfort. She sits flat against the floor, lets her hands slip from Jester’s face and sets the dodecahedron aside. “It’s okay if you were just, like, fuckin’ crying or something. You know that, right? Feels good sometimes.”

She’s already shaking her head, a confused pout on her face. “No, it feels  _ horrible _ \- but! I wasn’t even crying anyway, so don’t worry!”

“Too late.”

“Beau.”

“What? You - I. Worry,” she grumbles out awkwardly and looks over to the side of the ship, the scowl never leaving. “I wish I was better at this whole… making you feel better thing. You and Caduceus make it look so easy.”

“Well, we’re  pretty great,” Jester agrees and laughs when Beau just grumbles more. She scoots forward until their knees touch. “You make me feel better.”

“Not enough to talk, though. To admit you were crying.”

“I-” Oh, but that isn’t fair. How is she supposed to say no to Beau when she’s being so  _ cute? _ “Would you really kill the Traveler for me, Beau?”

Those blue eyes snap back to her - lightning-quick down to where they’re touching but back up so fast Jester almost doesn’t catch it. “Hell yeah, I’ll punch that redheaded bastard into the sun for you, Jes.”

The smile is easier now, more genuine. “And that’s how you help me, but right now I can’t… I don’t need that. I need… I need…” she tries to work it out, tries to put it into words, and  _ ugh _ , she can feel the tears slipping down her cheeks again. 

Really, she needs to be able to stop crying at  _ some _ point but maybe Beau was right, maybe this feels… kind of… sort of… a  _ little bit _ nice. To get it out.

Jester roughly tosses her hand to the side and a briefly sparkling copy of herself sits there beside them. Her head tilts to the side and Jester reaches out, watches herself reach back, and  _ oh. _ She looks so sad. No wonder they’re worried. “Nobody else understands him like I do.”

“That doesn’t excuse what he’s doing.”

She nods. Stares at those purple eyes looking back at her sympathetically. Maybe this is what she needs. The stars are nice, but a face is nicer. There are things she needs to hear, even if she has to be the one to say them to herself. “He’s not like us, even if he isn’t a god. I’m not sure he knows how to care about other people, and yet…”

“You know he cares about you,” Beau finishes grudgingly.

Jester looks up in surprise. “Yes.” Their monk is so  _ clever _ but it sneaks up on her sometimes. Beau’s opinions are loud and bold, just like her, but they hide a rather talented objective observation. “He broke my heart but I’m not sure he even noticed.”

“If that’s not worth the wedgie of a lifetime, Jes, I dunno what is.” The stupid line has the desired effect of dragging a weak laugh from the tiefling and Jester lets her duplicate fall. She scoops Beau’s hands up in her own, pretends she doesn’t notice the way they flinch, and stares down at them. “I think you should tell him.”

It’s a decision she’s also come to, albeit reluctantly. “I know…”

“If you want, Jester. You don’t have to… you don’t gotta do shit you don’t wanna do is, like, my whole point here,” Beau tries to explain again.  _ “You’re _ what’s important here, in that god-or-not-god equation. Not him. Not how he feels, if he can feel, and what he wants. It’s what  _ you _ want. It’s  _ you _ .”

“Yeah but I don’t want to hurt his feelings, Beau-”

“Fuck them! He’s a big boy playing god, he can look after his own feelings.  _ Your _ feelings are important.”

“To you,” she scoffs without really meaning to.

But Beau doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. To me. A fucking lot.” Jester looks up again, catches blue as they widen and struggle to stay on her. “And if he really is your friend, then they should be important to him too. Even if you have to tell him.” She lifts and drops her shoulders in a shrug, trying to take the sting from her words. “Maybe he’s some kind of Fey God… thing that isn’t used to loving mortals but that doesn’t mean he can’t learn. And if he doesn’t make the effort than he’s not worth it, Jes.”

Her fingers tighten in Beau’s. “But what if he leaves? What if he can’t? What do  _ I _ do? Do I just leave? Everything I do for you guys, it’s because  _ he _ helps me. What am I without him?” They’re worries she’s had for as long as… well, the Iron Shepards. Locked down deep inside where she hoped she’d never have to address them.

Beau’s fingers tighten too. “You’re Jester.”

_ The Jester. _

“What does that even mean?” 

She’s not sure if she’s asking Beau or the dodecahedron.

But Beau answers,  _ (Beau is there, just as surely as the stars). _ “Whatever you want it to.”

“What if…” her heart pounds in her chest, eyes frantic and full of tears as she presses her knees into Beau’s more insistently. Pulls at her hands, as if she’s too far away still. “What if I lose you guys? What if you leave me all alone? He’s all I have.”

_ “No,”  _ Beau tells her.  _ Tells her _ , and presses back. Fingers gripping her elbows, pulling her closer too. “We won’t. I promise. I won’t.”

“You tried, Beau!” The tears fall freely now. Her hand wipes at them blindly, leaning up. “You already tried! You tried to leave me!”

“No! No, Jes, I’m so sorry! I thought I was…” Beau leans up too and doesn’t fight it, doesn’t pull back as Jester  _ yanks _ her into her chest, their arms locking around each other. “I’m so sorry. I won’t leave. I won’t.  _ I won’t.” _

A blue hand cups her warm cheek as Jester pulls back enough to look into Beau’s face, the open fear and regret, and beyond that an adoration that burns like a candle in the darkest room. A warm glow, flickering but bright, there. Keeping the darkness at bay.

Jester’s other hand finds Beau’s, her pinky finger curling around the monk’s. “Promise?”

“I promise-”

Something pulses again, behind her eyes, like those twinkling lights in the beacon, like the stars on her card. “Swear it,” she feels the words, more than hears herself saying them as she stares into an ocean she’s all too willing to drown in.

_ “I swear, Jester.” _

Another pulse.

A swirl of crackling purple energy from Jester’s hand to Beau’s, traveling up her arm to settle in her chest. A surge of…  _ something _ . Strong. Powerful. A burning.

Unnoticed as sapphire and amethyst swirl together, neither girl willing to break the connection as they kneel on the top deck of the ship, embracing each other in the echo of a declaration.

In the echo of a pact.


End file.
